


Telly

by sonictrowel



Series: Long Night in the Blue House [9]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Tiny bit of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 05:53:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9979289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonictrowel/pseuds/sonictrowel
Summary: It was all well and good being a cultured, intellectual couple who had been all over time and space and collected more books and artefacts than most libraries or museums.  (Well, in the Doctor’s case, the type of items collected varied wildly between regenerations.  There was definitely at least one room in the TARDIS that was a ball pit.)  But River was, after all, originally a 20-21st century Earth girl, and sometimes she just wanted to rot her brains with some television.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Well now, told you I had no self control and it wouldn't be long for this one.  
> Dialogue at the end courtesy of Steven Moffat circa early 2000s.

It was all well and good being a cultured, intellectual couple who had been all over time and space and collected more books and artefacts than most libraries or museums.  (Well, in the Doctor’s case, the type of items collected varied wildly between regenerations.  There was definitely at least one room in the TARDIS that was a ball pit.)  But River was, after all, originally a 20-21st century Earth girl, and sometimes she just wanted to rot her brains with some television. 

Since Darillium was a human colony, it had plenty of old Earth classics in syndication, and she’d taken to watching repeats when she had down time and didn’t feel like reading.  The Doctor, bless him, had always been a rubbish companion when it came to this particular activity.  His previous incarnation had an attention span of about five seconds, and would end up whinging and writhing in boredom like a very melodramatic toddler throwing a fit.  If she sat on his lap, she could stretch his non-fidgeting window to about fifteen minutes, but rarely more.  Especially when he was older and lost all pretence of bashfulness around her and could easily make sure that _neither_ of them would be watching the television.

These days, the Doctor had no problem paying attention.  He just happened to believe, evidently, that he was a professional film and television critic, and that everyone on said television, real or fictional, was a “bloody pudding-brained idiot.”  And he could not be compelled by any force known to sentient life to keep his thoughts, or his noises of scorn, to himself. 

But tonight, River needed to relax and turn off her mind.  She’d had a long day prepping a group of inexperienced post-grad students for their first dig-slash-caving expedition.  The Doctor had insisted that he was going to accompany her; she was duly shocked that he would deign to participate in an archaeological activity of any kind, though he was a bit mother-henish whenever she left the house on her own now.  But he was good with kids, and a bunch of post-grad students really _should_ be the same as kids to him.  And she knew his barely-repressed panic over letting her out of his sight came from a deep fear of somehow changing this part of their timeline, or wasting more than a few consecutive hours of it being apart.  He probably needn’t worry, since he’d obviously already seen what happened here, or at least what happened next— but she tried not to think about that.

It was why the TARDIS-house hadn’t budged from her spot in seven years.  They’d talked about making some outings to other places and times, but never followed through.  He tried valiantly to project an air of calm so that she wouldn’t worry, but she could read him too well, and she understood his concern.  So many things could go wrong.  They had quite the storied past when it came to stumbling upon dangerous (mis)adventures whenever they so much as set foot out the door.  But they’d never before had a home together like this.  It was worth protecting.

And here in their comfortable, novel bubble of domestic bliss, River was determined that there would be a night of watching TV on the sofa without incident.  She had picked up sushi and drinks on her way home from work— that might keep him quiet for a few minutes, at least.

She reclined on the sofa with her legs over the Doctor’s lap, a short glass of plum wine in her hand as she scrolled through the titles.  There were plenty of cheesy, nostalgic, turn of [her] century options to choose from, which was her preference for relaxing.  

“Which one of these are you going to complain about the least?” she asked flatly.

“I don’t complain,” the Doctor objected.  She stared at him, lifting an eyebrow.  “Alright— _generally,_ yes, but I’m not— I’m _engaging!_  You hate when I don’t pay attention.”

“You’re more than welcome to not pay attention if you can do it quietly.”

“Fine, fine, what’s the one with all the,” he waved his hand in a circle, “the food and the chopping and the chap biting the pepper.”

“Oh _no,_ I am not going to listen to your bloody backseat cheffing.  Go and watch the footy like a normal person if you want to dictate to people who can’t hear you.”

“You hate normal people,” he said, sticking his tongue out.

River let out a laugh in spite of herself at seeing that on his face, and poked him in the stomach with her toe.  “Pick something with an actual plot.”

“Well, now _that’s_ going to be no easy task.”

“Oh for god’s sake, _fine_ , you don’t get a vote anymore.”

“I’m only saying—”

“Sweetie, shut up and eat your snacks.”

“Yes, dear,” he replied, smiling contentedly.

She decided on an episode of _Coupling._

“What’s this one about then?”

River leaned over and shoved a piece of tuna roll into his mouth, thinking it would be best to silence him preemptively.

It so happened that she’d actually made an astute choice.  While the Doctor had long overcome any embarrassment when it came to discussing “intimate” matters between the two of them, River knew she was definitely the sole exception to the rule.  His mouth might be prone to colourful language this go-round, but it seemed he was still very easy to scandalise with a bit of crass dialogue.  Or a great big load of it.

This mostly translated to him gawping and making choking sounds and grunts of contempt while she laughed, more at him than the television.  All in all, a lot quieter than his usual commentary.   

Ten minutes into the first episode, he mumbled “Pass the wine.” 

The Doctor didn’t get drunk easily, and in most incarnations, he didn’t have much interest in trying.  So River appreciated that he now occasionally liked to try to keep pace with her inebriation, possibly especially when he was feeling uncomfortable.  But god, he was so much fun when he was tipsy, and he even got _extra_ Scottish.

“Feckin’ hell,” he jabbed his chopsticks in the direction of the television, “is that what they’re really like?” 

“Who?” River asked, watching him with great enjoyment even as she felt her own face flushing from the wine.

 _“Normal_ people.   _'_ _Blokes_. _'"_   He said the words with heavy disdain.

“Mm, basically, yeah, lots of them.” 

“No bloody wonder you hate them.  Normal’s rubbish.  Thought _I_ was rubbish, but look— yer actually lucky you’ve got sexy ol’ me so you don’t have ta mess with any of _those_ dobbers.”  He grinned smugly, looking totally ridiculous.

River giggled and pulled her legs back under her.  “Got the ‘old’ part right, at least,” she smirked, crawling toward him.

“Haven’t had any complaints,” the Doctor retorted, sticking up his chin as he clumsily set his plate aside. 

“You haven’t got the sample size to judge.  Maybe I’m just trying to spare your _enormous ego,”_ she said, climbing into his lap.

His hands settled habitually on her hips as he squinted in thought.  “Hang on— you’ve, you’ve mixed innuendos, now I don’t know if I should be complimented or offended.”

“Take it how you like,” she purred, leaning forward.

“Well, now we’re just being literal, aren’t we,” he said in a low whisper by her ear.

River threw her head back and laughed.  She brushed her hand fondly over the side of his face, taking in the love and mirth and desire dancing in his blue eyes, so at odds with his heavy brows, although they did not look at all cross at the moment.  She felt warm all over, and it definitely wasn’t only the wine.

She failed completely to repress her besotted grin.  “I like you.”

He hummed and leaned into her again, and she felt him smile against her lips.  “I did notice.”

He tasted like sweet wine and pickled ginger, and his soft laugh as they fumbled with each other’s clothing made her feel like her ribs were too tight to hold the swell of love in her chest.  She couldn’t stop smiling as she kissed her way past his open collar and spread her hands over his warm skin under his button down.  

The Doctor kept one hand buried in her hair, massaging the spot at the top of her neck where she always had aches after a stressful day.  River sighed contentedly as his other hand crept around her back and unclasped her bra.  She sat up to strip off her shirt and bra properly and toss them somewhere over her shoulder, then started on his belt.  He leaned in and caught her lips with his, and this time curled both hands into her hair, gently holding her close.  He kissed her so tenderly and thoroughly that her hands stilled on his belt, lost to the world beyond his soft, warm mouth moving with hers, making her whole body tingle.  

After a few long moments, River gripped both sides of his open shirt and leaned back, pulling him with her without breaking their kiss as she shifted onto her back on the sofa.  The Doctor managed to get his legs under him again and crawl over her, hands skimming down her sides.  She pushed his trousers and pants down over his hips and he struggled to wiggle out of them while kissing her, before finally pulling away with a growl of frustration to kick them off.  She giggled and bit her lip as she watched him, and he shot her a teasing glare before shrugging out of his shirt and swiftly removing her trousers as well.

River reached her arms up welcomingly, and the Doctor smiled wickedly and fairly threw himself back onto her.  Her laughter was muffled into his mouth as he resumed kissing her breathless, deeper and more possessively than before.  He laced his fingers through hers and raised their hands, holding them in place above her head against the arm of the sofa.  He moved his lips to her neck and she let out a shaky breath and arched up against him.

He knew her so well, and while it would certainly contribute to his massive ego to tell him so, he always knew _just_ what to do with her.  She was generally in charge in most situations in their lives; could be even then at any moment if she wished, which might be why her heart fluttered out of time and a rush of heat spread through her body when he took charge of her. 

“Knew it,” the Doctor mumbled smugly against her throat, before moving his soft lips and hot breath across her chest.

“What,” River gasped, “were you peeking?  You know that’s rud- _ohh.”_  The things he was doing with his mouth made speaking a challenge.

“You can see mine,” he rumbled amiably when his lips were free, and moved back up to press his forehead against hers, squeezing her hands in his gently.  The rush of emotion and sensation when their minds touched took her breath away as always, and she threw her legs up around his hips, locking her heels over his back as he tilted his head to the side to kiss her. No words were needed when they were like this; they felt everything in synchrony.   

She slipped her hands out of his to cling around his shoulders, holding him close.  One of the Doctor’s hands came down to cup her face while the other reached down between them, and she tilted her hips to help guide him.  She trembled with the overwhelming strength of their connection; heads still pressed together, lips scarcely an inch apart, shaky breaths mingling.  He sank into her ever so slowly, and her senses burst with the reverberation of ecstasy between them.  

River had a split-second flash in her mind of kissing him, Babyface him, in front of a crackling stream of white light.  She had no memory of it, but it flooded her with a dazzling sensation of love and hopefulness.  And then the Doctor started to move, and all coherent thought left her.  There was only the blissful, intimate rightness of being bound to each other.

The television droned on, ignored.

 

_“Sally, you need someone good enough for you. You don't want some mutton-headed city boy who spends all his time thinking about his cars and his golf clubs. You want somebody who can love you the way you deserve to be loved, the way I want you to be loved. Sally, you need someone who will love you forever, properly. You're my friend, Sally. I want to see you with the best. You need Mr. Amazing, Mr. Incredibly-Superbly-Fantastic...ness. In your heart, I'm sure you know I'm right.”_

_“I don't want Mr. Superbly-Incredibly-Fantasticness, you stupid, stupid arse. I want you.”_  

_“For god's sakes, Sally.”_

_“What? What?!”_

_“I was talking about me!”_

_“I'm sor— You're Mr. Superbly, Incredibly Whatever?”_

_“Well, yes!”_

 


End file.
